Cling & Clutter

Life gets to a point where the ship docks and the feeling is surreal. It's like a tired seal washed ashore seemingly dead. Pardon the unlikely metaphor, a whale is too big for me now. Not when the denim stretched to a discovered tear last night in front of the tele. Not funny considering there's some retail therapy to be had to shoo the cavities away.

This new Harvey Danger seems nice. Old skool definite. Reeks of Fastball but not really the direct radio hit material. It's the slow sinking-in discovery. Like marinating chickens. Slow and steady. Slow broiled for succulent goodness. Go download, they'll love you. They want you to.

There, did my bit for the free download. On second listen, they remind me of the aussie band Whitlams. Just the style, not the politics.

I'm clinging to a log of junk. Well, more than a log really. I made some mods to the said room but there's that backlog of washed up bills and plastic food wraps lying underneath the boardwalk. Argh, just the thought of cleaning it just makes me queasy. I can so easily blame the childhood slave labour for the effects right now. But I am a responsible adult. Actually I don't really wanna be. Argh!

This clutter is taking my creative energy way off the tangent. I heard it on a podcast that clutter does that. Now I know why I feel like I'm climbing up the hill when I wake in the morning to fetch the girl to work. I ought to throw away something everyday and stop holding on to them documents like evidence for a murder trial.

Then I get to mid week and scream daylight robbery when I realise my ass will be mooted to the machinery all weekend and it makes me weak just thinking of it. And come Monday, I rest my sorry bones to the tune of a repetitive Celine Dion Titanic Theme and realise I have usurped the sunrise beyond it's use-by time. It's a vicious cycle. Freaking 'ell.

I go clean and sweep and suck it up now. STFU!